


Best Kept Secrets

by redonthefly



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, kristanna secret santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2037072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redonthefly/pseuds/redonthefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hears things – whispers, hushed words behind open palms.</p>
<p>(The princess.)</p>
<p>(The harvester boy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Kept Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr's Kristanna Secret Santa exchange.

No one dares talk about it to her face of course (there’s a veil of privacy, but let’s just be honest: it’s a small castle, and Arendelle is a nosy kingdom), but she hears things – whispers, hushed words behind open palms.

_The princess_.

_The harvester boy._

It can be exciting to be the one that turns everyone’s head – the person people are paying attention to, out of the shadows, not the spare, but interesting in her own right. It’s a dubious kind of honor, one Elsa truly hates, so Anna pretends to be disheartened while her sister paces their study and wrings her hands – “Oh Anna, I couldn’t bear it, the things they  _say_ ” – but underneath the murmurs and gentle pats on the back and the stiff upper lip – she’s almost giddy.

She knows it’s a high, and it will be a long, long way down eventually, but for now the eyes and the quiet voices buoy her up because only she knows the truth, the  _real_  truth. The whole kingdom can watch and wonder and say whatever they like; no one is impolite (that’s Arendelle – slightly meddlesome but so very  _proper_  about it), and for all that talking no one has ever made any kind of fuss. No one has ever approached her face, or Elsa’s or Kristoff’s, so even when it sounds like the whole castle knows, they don’t quite get it right:  she has her secret to take and tuck into her pocket, her secret to hold against her skin.

The thought puts a spring in her step, an extra bounce that makes her skirts flap at her ankles when she waltzes through the halls.

She laughs at herself, lets her fingers flutter around her head and spins like a top; this is a good day. A tall woman dusting the hall lamps snorts as she passes – it doesn’t escape her notice. That’s another thing, everyone thinks she’s oblivious but she’s  _not:_ she hears and sees all of the things they assume she’s too silly to care about. It doesn’t matter. Let them roll their eyes, she thinks. Let them laugh and point when they think she can’t see. Let them talk about how  _insatiable_  and ridiculous Princess Anna of Arendelle is.

Oh, but they really have  _no_  idea.

The truth is so much more delicious.

They might whisper that Kristoff has been seen climbing into her window, but they’ll never hear what he growls into ear, the things he says to her while his fingers work under her nightgown.

Someone might gossip that they saw them disappear into the library after dinner, but they won’t know the look of satisfaction on Kristoff’s face when she comes, smug and rosy and hungry.

In town there might be mutterings about how often she sends her bedclothes down to the laundress these days, but they have no idea that she’s tasted herself on his lips, or felt the drag of his whiskers on the inside of her thighs.

And yes, sometimes there’s pain – but it’s a  _good_  pain, something delicious that she can touch and see for a few days afterwards. (There’s a spot on her hip that still makes her toes curl.)

Her waltz turns into a flounce.

She throws open the door to her room, away from the eyes and maids who roll their eyes, prepared to crawl into bed and wait for the end of the day.

Someone is already in it.

She almost squeals, but swallows it at the last minute and it comes out a muted squeak. Her sheets and quilts are tangled together in a lump at the foot of the bed, and Kristoff is sitting on the corner, undoing the wrappings of his boots. The mattress sags a little under his weight, and his outer layers (fur lined tunic, belt, hat, knapsack, inner and outer mittens) are strewn around the base of the bed.  His head snaps up at the noise she makes, and he raises a finger to his lips and winks.

 “What are you doing here?” She hisses. “You’re early.”

Kristoff drops his second boot on the floor and sets his hands along the span of her hips, drawing her close to the side of the bed. He must have just gotten in; even through the layers of her dress, she can tell his hands are cold. A glance down at them confirms it – his fingers are mottled pink, rewarming slowly.

He doesn’t answer right away, but nuzzles his head against her stomach for a moment before standing, pulling her against him.

“I missed you, am I allowed to do that?” He asks, and his though his voice is a low hum, his smile is tinted mischievous.

“I suppose,” she dithers, cocking her head away, pretending. “You really should know better than to disrupt the schedule of a Princess; I could be meeting with a duke. About a thing. An important…thing.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have an important thing.”

Anna looks up at him, says “No,” and watches as the turn of his mouth stretches into something nearing wicked.

“I didn’t think so.” He leans in close, whispers the words in her ear, and raises gooseflesh along the back of her neck.

For a long moment they stand together, Kristoff holding her firmly against his body, pressing kisses into her hair while she plucks at his shirt and curls her fingers around the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms.

 “D’you want to take a bath?” She asks, when he shifts, turning their bodies back toward her poster bed.

“No,” he mutters, mouth against her temple. “I don’t want to wait.”

His fingers are probing, pushing against her body and into her clothes, not too fast, but with a palpable urgency as the laces of her dress come undone around her.

“One of these days,” she gasps, “you’re going to tell me how you learned to undress a woman so fast.”

Kristoff grins and she shivers – his face is coiled and expression slightly greedy; everything about his body radiates a kind of keen intensity. Although her dress is still  _technically_  on (okay, so it’s falling down around her shoulders and there’s a fair amount of cleavage showing but it is still on her person) when he looks at her like that she feels very naked and exposed.

Kristoff is not, by nature, a very aggressive person – forthright, blunt and sometimes antagonistic, yes – but seldom  _insistent_. She knows him to be patient and compassionate and loving; huge and tough as a bear, but also sensitive, careful and kind.

_This is where the people of Arendelle are wrong_ , she thinks, eyes closing in relish as he proceeds with undressing her – large hands yanking open her loosened corset, one arm supporting her against his body as her dress falls around her feet.

They can say what they will about the behavior of the Princess, but no one suspects the Reindeer King.

 “You have no idea – ” he says, a low whisper on her neck, “what waiting for this was like.”

“Oh, I think I do,” she manages, voice giddy and high and girlish; she’s weak in the knees already, shuddering where their bodies touch, put off balance by the throbbing between her legs.

Kristoff laughs, full throated and heartily, dropping to his knees when she shushes him. His nose nuzzles at her hip, lips grazing her stomach while he pushes up her shift. She pulls it off the rest of the way, rolls her toes in her stockings, but he doesn’t go there next; instead, he sits back on his heels and gives her an appraising look.

“Do you always wear these?” He asks, pinching her big toe, rubbing the thin silk between his fingers experimentally.

“Yes,” she breathes, stilled by the warmth of his breath on her ankle. “Nearly every day; you know that.”

“Hmmm, perhaps you shouldn’t.” His hands close around her foot then, and she collapses back onto the mattress, letting the heat of his fingers crawl slowly up her legs, draping one, then the other over his shoulders until he’s level with the bed.

“Kristoff, this isn’t f-fair, you know.”

“How’s that?” He presses a kiss against the bare skin of her upper thigh, nips gently at the skin there until it’s pink and flushed like the rest of her.

What a picture she must make: Arendelle’s proper princess, locked in her bedroom in the middle of the afternoon with a barefooted man kneeling at the edge of her bed, with her stocking legs hooked over his shoulders. He nibbles at her again, teeth brushing the ribbon ties and lace of her garters, nuzzling closer to the join of her legs.

“Well for one thing, you’re still entirely too dressed… _oh_. Oh my  _god._ ”

“Your drawers are still on,” he says mildly, one hand running up the length of her leg, and over her stomach to cup one of her breasts. Anna wrestles herself up back to her elbows, light headed and eager; this is her secret,  _this_ , the man between her legs, loving her and loving her body altogether.

“Then get. Them.  _Off_.” Kristoff laughs again, and twists the nipple in his palm gently, hard enough that Anna can feel the sensation at the end of her fingers and toes, and in the coiled well of lust gathering in her abdomen.

She’s practically panting by the time he reaches the slim ties of her drawers – Kristoff likes to take his time when he’s in a mood like this, pinching and flicking her nipples with his calloused fingertips, warming the swell of her breasts in his hands, light touches all the way down her sides – until drawing the laces slowly out of their neat knot and easing the soft linen over her hips.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, dropping the garment on the floor beside him, and she blushes, delighted, as he stares at her, reaching up to grab her hips and pull her toward him.

The first touch of his mouth on her is always the best, she knows this, could cry for wanting it while he kisses his way around the center of her, avoiding what she wants most. He knows exactly how to draw out the seduction until she’s weeping for the want of it, slick wetness drawn down onto her thighs, hips canting up, up, toward his mouth.

“Do you want this,” he asks, and she hears the first sound of a strain in his voice, looks down over her own heaving chest and meets his eyes, dark and lustful, hooded, like he’s drunk on the mere sight and smell of her.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers, and cries out when he finally drags his tongue against her, long and flat, scooping up to flick at her clit, just a fractional touch before returning to the rest of her, languishing over her flesh.

It could be seconds or long minutes – she can never be totally sure, she loses herself – before the swell of climax grows deep between her legs, uncoiling itself like a spring. It curls her toes and lifts her hips, and Kristoff knows her, knows  _this_ , exactly what she needs, and pushes two thick fingers into her, curls them up and suckles at her eagerly until she’s fisting his hair in her hands and jerking for more friction, stifling a scream.

Orgasm, as usual, comes with rolling waves of heat, flushing out of her body, flickering out in the tips of her fingers and toes. Kristoff licks at her lazily, letting her down gently, his expression amused: pleased, but still animal hungry.

When her breathing stills, Anna yanks at his shirt until he crawls up onto the bed with her when she’s stretched out in pleasure, naked except for her silken stockings.

“You know I miss you when you’re gone,” she says languidly as he climbs over her, holding himself up on hands that rest on either side of her face. “But I really don’t mind how you say hello.”

Kristoff huffs, a half laugh, and dips his head to kiss her. His head slants so they meet easily, her mouth slightly dry and his slightly wet; she can taste herself when he runs his tongue along the crease of her mouth and tugs gently at her bottom lip with his teeth.

They stay like that while, kissing slowly, hands wandering, Kristoff idly pressing himself against the crease of her hip. When his pulses begin to grow more insistent, the kisses rougher and more demanding, his breathing less even…this is her game, her turn to give him what he needs.

“Come here,” she whispers, and hooks her legs behind his. He groans when he sinks into her, one long slow push that makes her gasp. He sits up a little, sitting on his knees, and holding her legs up around his waist with hands under her thighs.

She loves this part because there are no secrets – not here, not where it matters, not while she’s wide open in lust and love. It’s as transparent as two people can be.

Kristoff  groans, deliberately slowing as they move together. He’s always slow at first; she can see everything, arched against her mattress, see how dark his eyes can grow, how they narrow when he focuses on his cock sliding into her body.

It’s been weeks since she’s been touched, and now she thinks she might be on fire.

Pleasure is growing in her again, expertly stoked, and Kristoff’s breath is coming less even, out in short huffs through his nose; he bends forward a little, changing the angle of penetration just enough that his pelvis grinds against her clit again. It takes maybe one more thrust, maybe two, until she’s there again, clenching and digging her fingers into the bed sheet while he groans, low and long, shuddering and buried deep inside with his release.

They slow, and he lowers them together, boneless and worn, into her nest of pillows.

He wraps one arm around her, tugging up one of her sheets over their shoulders. It’s an odd mix of sensations – he is finally fully warm, a furnace against her chest, and the sheets are cool. She is still wearing her stockings.

“I love you,” he murmurs, low and cozy in her ear. “But I think someone probably heard that.”

“Let them talk,” she replies, and snuggles closer into the down on his chest. “It’s still our secret.”

 


End file.
